Human Heart
by Lady Eponine Black
Summary: Long ago, three girls made a promise under a hot summer sun. Years later, Narcissa Black, grief stricken after the betrayal of her sister, stares out at the howling storm. Alone with her pain and her thoughts, Narcissa dwells on her sister and her own aspirations, trying to keep her goals in perspective as the darkness of the wind and pain she can't show threaten to overwhelm her.


Late into the night, the snow fell and fell. Tumbling down from the sky in desperate droves, reaching and reaching, yearning for a chance to stand out from the mist, until they disappeared into the sameness of the snowdrifts covering the lawn.

Narcissa Black stared out into the swirling obscurity of the black, empty night. Pale, drawn forehead rested against the thin barrier of glass that separated here from the raging storm. A thin, useless sheet of glass that even a mediocre wizard could blast through in seconds. But it was all there was, the only surface, smooth and chilled with winter and tears, that stood between her and total desperation. Cold, ice-fire eyes gazed into the darkness, squinted slightly as though searching for a light in all the cloudy haze. As though looking for a figure, battered and windswept, returning home to prove that it was all a mistake, that she was wrong, she was sorry, she had not broken any promises after all.

Narcissa Black was looking for an illusion, a figment of her imagination, because in the deepest tunnels of her heart, she knew her sister would never come back, never repent, never look back on the family she detested. Narcissa knew her hopes were futile as her mothers rose bushes, the ones that had to be magically restored after every storm, the ones that were even now groaning under the heavy burden of snow, yet still she sat, night after night. Still she stayed, legs curled up under her in the drafty window seat in Andromeda's now out-of-bounds bedroom, listening to the howl of the wind, fancying that she heard voices in it. Childish voices, three children's voices, making a promise of loyalty forever, of greatness achieved together and a trio naught could break. A vow, sworn with lisping tongues by the great bed of lilacs and lilies. Hands clasped, heads bowed, gleaming under the bright noonday sun that Narcissa could feel heat her cheeks even now, ten years later. A promise, an aspiration. Something they could count on. Something that, at the time, had seemed special, lasting, but now, tested in the heat of betrayal, melted just like the words they were.

Wind shook the glass, and above the Black Manor clouds raced across the sky, dark, bruised with let-downs and mistakes, heavy with a million tears, crying for the everlasting darkness outside. Thick, weighed-down clouds, hurtling across the chessboard of the sky with no farewells and no regrets. Narcissa shivered, drew her arms around herself, the chill seeping through her black robes, making the necklace she wore sear like ice through her skin. The room behind her was dark, looming figures of the bed and desk becoming shadowy and indistinct in the way objects – and faces – do at two-o-clock in the morning.

Suddenly restless, Narcissa shifted her weight, stared down at her lap. For a split second, she contemplated biting her nails, but dismissed the idea at once. She was not the kind of girl who did that. Even in the middle of her grief, she must not forget herself, must not for one second sink below the image of herself she held suspended in the mind, an image build from dreams and aspirations and a burning desire to rise above her family, to rise above herself and be high enough that she did not feel the pain, the bitter guilt and grief. An image crafted from promises, too. From vows, exchanged by a burning bed of flowers on a hot June day so long ago. An image that would wash away the scars, the tears,, the nights where merely pretending was not enough, and the cool composure must crack, furtive tears mingled with dark blood. And she swore she never cried. Not where it counted, at least.

Outside, the storm raged on, inside the calm darkness prevailed. Exactly the opposite of how it really was in life. What was on the outside mattered must, what people saw and how you acted in public. The storms on the inside could be brushed over with a thick coat of polish, as long as nobody saw who you were when alone. No easy task, when every glimpse of the wild-haired snake-bearer by your side made you wonder whether insanity ran in the family, then be consumed by guilt that you were even thinking that way, about the one sister you had left, even though it was a worry that ran years deep.

Angry words and painful nights left marks, but as long as they were on the inside, it did not matter. Did not matter. Maybe, she wondered, it would be easier if they did, easier if there was no façade. But it was only wondering, as her sister did with such disastrous results, but different. Andromeda had wanted to banish the façade, but Narcissa wanted to repel what ran beneath it, her own personal river Styx.

She sighed, dark blue eyes reflecting the misery of a cold and hopeless night, pale smooth hands grasping at the smooth, impersonal glass of the window. Eyes still squinted for a hunched figure emerging from the snow. But for a second, her sister's face became clear in her head. Andromeda, so like Bellatrix in looks. But looks were deceiving, as she'd learned so young. Andromeda had broken her promise. She, Narcissa, would not break hers. She, Narcissa, would do what they had sworn they would, and, at the same time, live up to the image in her head.

Andromeda had said that being true to yourself came first. For Bellatrix, it was always power. For Narcissa, it was simple; what came first was ambition, only then would you achieve your dream. But maybe, for all of them, it was love that came first, that would come through in the end. Maybe they were more alike then Narcissa realized at that point, trapped in a drafty window seat in a room that still reeked of rancid memories.

"Andromeda was wrong." She thought. "What is the point of being true to yourself if it makes you break with sanity to go against the rules, if it singles you out and casts you alone? If by being true to yourself you betray your sisters and break your promises?" The image of Andromeda faded, leaving her with trembling thoughts. "If I am to be where I want to be, I must forget Andromeda." She said aloud. "_She_ broke the promise we made. She is no longer of us." The words sounded empty in the still air, like a promise. She tried to banish the memory of her sister to the dungeon of her mind. And she thought she succeeded, she really did.

But years later, in a cold clearing with they eyes of her sister and husband on her, it was the last lingering part of Andromeda in her, Andromeda who had proven a different type of love and family loyalty then herself; which made her break the icy image she held in her head and heart, and cast it away. Because only that would bring her back to the one thing she cared about; her son, and achieve the promise ( broken now, she realized, although she had done what she thought she should, only to realize that she was, again, wrong) that she had made under a burning sun many years ago.

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Written for the one line competition with the line "Late into the night, the snow fell and fell"


End file.
